


the wind kissed the back of your neck

by ghostwit



Category: One Piece
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Pre-Canon, They're like. maybe early 20's here?, Weddings, very briefly but yeah :| I know.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24862876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwit/pseuds/ghostwit
Summary: When Shanks leans forward to kiss Mihawk, knees drawing up and forward from where he sits cross-legged, as if every inch of him wants, wants, he wonders how long they’ll be this young.
Relationships: Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks/Dracule Mihawk
Comments: 6
Kudos: 73





	the wind kissed the back of your neck

**Author's Note:**

> One day I'll write a full wedding scene. That's not today.
> 
> I should write my Mihawks a little bit meaner butlike T_T cannot help myself from making him soft.

When Shanks leans forward to kiss Mihawk, knees drawing up and forward from where he sits cross-legged, as if every inch of him wants, _wants_ , he wonders how long they’ll be this young. Mihawk’s legs stretch long and dark over the mattress and cross playfully at the ankles from where he’s sat perpendicular to Shanks, turning his head and leaning generously on one arm to accept the kiss, soft and deep. He pulls back, appreciative; Mihawk’s got his chin resting on his shoulder, bunching up the fabric there, eyes closed and lips parted delicately to show just a hint of teeth. Mihawk breathes in deep through his nose, a sound of contentment that warms the pit of Shank’s stomach, eyes opening on the outbreath, gold and catching the light just so. 

“Captain,” eyes sparkling with mirth and mouth just barely upturned. The ship around them sways on the water, bobbing with the gentle waves. She’s new, especially on an ancient sea, having braved a paltry few battles insofar, a true cementing of Shanks’ new title. This time, Shanks thinks he loves him. 

Mihawk’s eyes widen as Shanks wastes no time in surging up, unhooking his legs from their criss-cross to throw one thigh over Mihawk’s outstretched legs, flattening his back to the sheets. His kogatana flops back, over his shoulder with the force, narrowly clipping his ear, blood rushing to the pale skin as the black cord securing it around his neck arcs over his throat, stark in a way that makes Shanks swallow hard. 

He’s been staring long enough at that long expanse of bared throat to have allowed Mihawk’s gaze to settle again, any hint of surprise overwhelmed by the calm fondness that characterizes the gentle set to his eyes and the slight slant to his mouth. He dips down and kisses him with elbows bent, can’t help it, the set of lips against his cool and familiar, opening easily for him. It’s a kiss like a thousand before and the thousands that will follow, but Mihawk’s lashes flutter like moth wings against his cheek and his hands come up to rest on his hips, pulse hammering in his fingers where they stroke the bones of his hips through cloth and, in that moment, it’s better than anything the world’s got to offer and ever will. He pulls away, dragging Mihawk’s lower lip between his teeth with just the ghost of pressure as he does, reveling in the happy sigh it earns him. 

“We should get married,” he grins, and Mihawk flushes in full beneath him, pink tinting that languid throat and glowing from around his sideburns. 

“Ah,” Mihawk clucks his tongue, a motion Shanks watches with too-eager eyes that earn himself a swat on the hip, “is that something you people do?” 

Shanks laughs, loud and cheery, unfettered as everything else he does, “You’re a pirate too, Hawkeye!” He noses down Mihawk’s throat with a giggle, pressing his lips over where the cord rests. “Well, technically.” His teeth press into Mihawk’s throat with his grin, rumbling with its own quiet chuckle. 

“I think I’d like that,” his words wisp out a little on the end, going hoarse, in that way Shanks knows they do when the man is overwhelmed, and his heart pounds hard in his chest. He can feel every hard line beneath him, the lean muscle of Mihawk’s thighs that lay still beneath him, the quiet tension that slowly stiffens everything up to his abdomen. He leans up, pressing a kiss to the ear pinkened by the smack of his necklace before pulling back to look at Mihawk’s face--something he doesn’t quite manage, just a glimpse of blown-out pupils and creased cheeks before a hand shoots between them to yank Shanks back down and into another kiss. Shanks hums, letting the excitement thrum under his skin. 

* * *

“Eheh, I don’t think that’s how it works.” Beckman says, grin toothy and lopsided as he lifts a hand to Shanks’ temple to brush back wayward hairs. 

Shanks guffaws, boisterous, “Hah! I’m the captain, it’ll work how I please.” It borders on too loud, even for him, another tell for the edge of nervousness that tints his actions. He tugs at the sash securing his open shirt (no different from the others, he had closed his eyes while rooting through his drawers to make sure), and Beckman gives him another one of those knowing looks of his that Shanks is too merry to ever try to wipe off his face with a good swing. 

Beckman runs his hands over Shanks’ fringe a last time, smoothing back the hair to give his captain a good once-over before pressing a kiss to the edge of his hairline, something Shanks giggles at. 

“You look good, captain,” he steps back, knitting his fingers and stretching them overhead with a muffled pop of his elbows. He moves his cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue before reaching across to link elbows with his captain.

“I always do.” says Shanks, just a beat too late.

* * *

The wedding is a quiet affair, with a crewmate of the former Pirate King and the world’s greatest swordsman-to-be, tucked somewhere into an alcove of an uninhabited island. Pointedly nondescript, lacking trimmings and lace and anything to denote the land as special. 

_“You think this is it?” Mihawk asks, chin resting on his hand as he leans against the railing of the Force._

_Shanks spares him a glance as he wraps an arm around the other’s shoulders, brows furrowed._

_“Oh, don’t be hurt,” Mihawk chuckles, quiet and low, just right to remind Shanks that he loves him. “I just mean that…” his gaze darts down and he licks his lips. Shanks’ grin turns a corner towards cheeky at that._

_“Hmmm? What is it, Hawkeye?” He grins, looping his other arm between them to lift Mihawk’s fingers from his cheek and clasp them between his hands. Mihawk hums in approval, resting his head on Shanks’ shoulder. His eyes still point elsewhere, beyond their joined hands._

_“It’s just that... ” he stops, pensive, and Shanks takes the opportunity to press a kiss to Mihawk’s temple. It’s rare to see Mihawk struggle so much, ever-eloquent and bold to the point of embarrassment for the more moderate, and it’s deeply endearing to Shanks._

_“We’ve split the sky all the way across the Grand Line, Akagami,” he brings their hands to his mouth. “Has that not already cemented this?” He presses a kiss to Shanks’ knuckles, right on the now-empty ring finger._

He’s dressed plainly (by his standards), too, though he’s traded his more garish patterns out for grayscale: white shirt, ruffled delicately at the collar, and black cloak, dark slacks and polished shoes. His eyes are bright and warm, honey under sunlight, even across the stretch of sand that separates them. He isn’t smiling. No matter how much Mihawk insists normalcy, Shanks doesn’t think he’ll be able to forget this, thinks this image will burn the back of his eyelids with fond, exuberant warmth even as he draws his last breath.

Mihawk holds Yoru between them, challenging, and Shanks lifts Gryphon to lower the black blade until he can bridge the gap between them, kissing him over the bridge of their swords. Mihawk smiles against his mouth, sliding Yoru behind his back with a careful flourish so Shanks can do that thing Mihawk likes, pulling his cloak up around the two of them so Mihawk can laugh against him freely, fingers playing along Gryphon’s hilt. He’s gentle with her, reverent and grateful for every ring of blades. They’re happy. 

(The after-party is much less of a quiet affair. Mihawk briefly contemplates divorce.)

**Author's Note:**

> My upload schedule is just (long fart noise). All my writing's been so ROUGH, lately.
> 
> Something about. claims already staked by experience rather than ceremony, proof of their love being everywhere in the odd sort of fable of their grand lives. an inextricable, inescapable pull. basically. :| soulmates. yeah. Also, Mihawk liking to be all swaddled is another idea I'm super into sadgyfghj. they're so cute T_T
> 
> Please leave a comment or something if you're up to it, always happy to hear any thoughts!
> 
> hazeism.tumblr.com


End file.
